


No Heroes in Gotham City (though we'll try)

by edwardcobblepot



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, Comfort, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Infatuation, M/M, Multi, NO underaged sex, Opposites Attract, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Ending, Sensuality, Someone save Oswald, This will hurt, True Love, Villains, no happy ending, nothing sexual goes on between Bruce and Jerome okay, protective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edwardcobblepot/pseuds/edwardcobblepot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald Cobblepot is a misunderstood person with good intentions, who is trying to make a hero of himself, and avenge his troubled past.</p>
<p>Edward Nygma is the dark reflection that Oswald and his crew of good 'bad guys' are trying to take down.</p>
<p>(Lots and lots of character AU's and slight personality changes).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where the driver and the passenger intersect

"Oswald... Oswald! Wake up!" Barbara shook the small man awake and he wiped his eyes as he sat up in bed.

"What do you want, Ms. Kean?" Oswald asked, and when he opened his eyes he realized that all of his, ergh, crew members were there.

"Morning, sunshine. Glad you decided to join us."

"Ah. Good morning to you, Detective Gordon."

Jerome, was there, and seemed to always be there ever since he became somewhat of a body guard for Bruce. Alfred was cleaning his hand gun and Selina was looking like she would rather be anywhere else.

Jerome gently pulled Bruce out of the way as Oswald wobbled out of bed, and over to his small booze cabinet where he took a big gulp in hope it would burn his throat.

"You might want to be sober for today, Oswald. We have a bit of buisness to handle with Mr. Nygma."

Oswald laughed erratically, until he realized that it wasn't a joke.

"Wait, wait, wait. The Edward Nygma? The one who nearly blew Bruce over there to pieces and destroyed two Wayne Estates in a twenty-four hour proximity? That Edward Nygma?"

Oswald was a bit shocked and taken back. That man held way too much power to be shook up.

"For those reasons, exactly." Said Alfred, standing up and straightening out his clothing. 

"What, you scared or something?" Selina said as she laced up her boots. Jerome took the whiskey glass bottle out of Oswald's hands and smiled down into the cylinder into the brown liquid.

"Jerome! You're eighteen. Put that down for another three years, would you?" Alfred called out, and Jerome chuckled as he sat the bottle down in Oswald's cabinet.

"Remember the time Brucie and I got so wasted on the old liquor in the wine cellar that we had hiccups for a week and slept two days? Good times, good times." 

"Of course, Jerome. If you being killed six months previous and showing up at our doorstep in rags wasn't a sign I should've kicked your ginger bum out on to the streets, then I suppose getting Master Wayne drunk was little in comparison and not too shocking."

"Stories can wait!" Oswald said, irritatingly pulling some pants on, "why would we even try to get involved with Mr. Nygma? He's in it deep with the Asylum and the drug trade."

 "This doesn't have anything to do with you having feelings for Mr. Nygma, does it, Oswald? Because we can go alone and claim the honor in our names." Barbara said,  as Oswald quickly buttoned his vest over his button up shirt.

"Feelings for him is an overstatement."

"Alright," Jerome said, clapping his hands together, "this doesn't have anything to do with your desire to fornicate with him, does it?" Jerome laughed.

"What does my personal involvement with him have to do with it? If you guys want to risk our lives, then I might as well come along considering I won't have friends if you're all dead."

"Great decision." Jim said, rolling his eyes and rolling his sleeves up.

*

"Oswald, you're the bait for this one." Jim said, and Oswald started fixing his hair.

"What do you guys need me to do?"

"Distract him and his two body guards while we search for evidence of where his underground drug trade is. We'll probably have to hack into his computer."

"And exactly how long do you expect it to take?" Oswald was anxious, he definitely did not want his first interaction with Edward Nygma to begin with him walking out from a black van parked down the street and knocking on his door. This seemed to easy. This man owned two and a half million dollars due to his involvement with gangs and their connection to Arkham Asylum, he was a genius who graduated at the top of his class, and he was over all stunning.

Yet he dwells in a industrial styled condo and engages himself to nice games of checkers with his two body guards named James and Todd but might as fairly be named dumb and dumber.

"About an hour. We need you to get the two body guards out so we can KO them and get to his computer located in his lair he keeps protected under this very building. We dug through his mail to ensure he pays for the basement and it's protection last week." Cat said, loading her gun.

"So don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to indulge." Jim mocked.

"Why do all of you keep suggesting intimacy?"

"Well, you must've learned something from the notorious Fish Mooney." Jerome said, smiling wide.

"I was an Umbrella Boy!" 

"And I'm sure a lot of them thought you were the cutest little umbrella boy they'd ever seen." Jerome suggested sarcastically.

"In case anyone still cares, I was not a sex worker!"

"It doesn't matter!" Bruce said, raising his voice, "everyone's love are at risk here, so we have to cooperate with each other."

"I wish you all the best of luck in your wild goose chase, I have riddles to be bothered with." Oswald scoffed as he walked out of the black van and slammed the door behind him.

He adjusted his suit as he walked into the lobby of the condos, and tapped anxiously on the desk and waited for an employee.

"Hello sir, how may I help you?" Spoke the red headed girl who wore a badge that read 'Emily'.

"Uh, well, hello Emily. I need to visit Mr. Nygma. Do I have to be buzzed in for the elevator to open."

"Yes. Our elevators lead straight to apartments so you must have a key or be buzzed in by a resident."

"Oh, thank you. Good day."

Oswald limped over to the buzzers. 

He noticed the camera and looked into it as he buzzed '6', Edward Nygma's floor.

"What?"

The voice, that was obviously busy doing something else responded through the call microphone after Oswald ringing it for a few seconds.

"Hello, Mr. Nygma. My name is Peter Huphert from Arkham Asylum information management and we need to speak to you about matters concerning the product. May I come in?"

"Certainly. I love being interrupted on my day off by second class workers. Come in."

Edward grumbled and the elevator doors opened. Oswald limped in and anxiety flooded him as he convinced himself into following the lie he just created.

The elevator doors opened to a beautiful floor that had a certain charisma that made Oswald's heart beat faster. It was just so visibly pleasing.

But before he could ask for Edward to show himself, he was being slammed into the wall beside the elevator's closed doors, and realized he would also need a key to get out of there. He felt the cold metal of the gun barrel against his head and heard the safety of the gun being clicked off.

"There is no Peter Huphert who works at information. So who are you and what are you doing in my home?" The figure that was Mr. Nygma was quite lanky and leaning over him, darkness shadowing him and the aggressive whisper of his voice making him shiver.

"Please-"

"I've heard enough. Put your hands behind your back."

"Wha-"

"Now!"

Oswald did not try to compromise the obviously physically dominate man with a gun, and put his hands behind his back.

Oswald heard the clicking and rummaging of handcuffs, and he wondered where the other man acquired such and why he carried them on him. He was obviously not a police officer.

"You have a nice nose, so I won't break it." He heard Edward whisper in what could be mistaken as a seductive tone, before getting a fist to the temple and blacking out onto the floor.

*

Oswald awoke in a room with nothing, save a king-like throne. Oswald was lying on the floor, though, without his suit jacket, and the fact that his hands were handcuffed in front of him this time makes him detect that he was unhandcuffed, stripped of his jacket, and then rehandcuffed.

He just didn't know why. And the most appropriate thought he could think of was that it was a trophy. You know, in the way of which some murderers will keep a lock of their victims hair or some arsonists will revisit their crime scenes just to take photos of what they've done or to possibly collect ash.

Though Oswald knew that those reasons were more likely, he hoped it was just because Edward was a decent fellow and wanted to clean it for him.

Edward soon entered the room, wearing a white T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, hair in messy curls. He looked pretty innocent for a theif, manipulator, and murderer.

"Ah, so the sleeping beauty awoke from her slumber."

"It's his slumber, actually. Sorry to disappoint." Oswald snapped at his  kidnapper.

"What are pronouns to a world full of idiots regardless of gender?" Edward smiled as he glided towards Oswald. 

And as quickly as Oswald could blink, Edward had pulled out his gun from what seemed to e his underwear, and pressed it between Oswald's eyebrows.

"Unfortunately, I'm not that happy to see you." Edward said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

"Mr. Nygma, please-"

"Ooh! Is this the part where you beg? This is always my favorite part. Also, does your mommy always write your name on the inside of your jacket, Oswald Cobblepot? Or was that just for summer camp last year?"

Oswald ignored the man's insults.

"Please, do not shoot me. I am of no use to you if I'm dead. Please."

"Oh, but you are use to me alive? How so?"

Oswald swallowed hard.

"Have you ever been to Fish Mooney's?"

"What man hasn't been to her club?" Edward looked puzzled at him. And then as if like a light bulb went off in his mind, he smiled and put his gun on safety and into his pants pocket.

"That's where I remember you! You're her... Umbrella boy. Yes, her little servant thing, kneeled beside her like a loyal dog! Oh, this is the best thing I've heard all day. A low life like you thinks he can stop a force like me? I'm inexorable, Oswald." Edward clapped his hands together as he looked up at the ceiling in laughter, and Oswald felt the humiliation that he felt working for Fish flood back again as his cheeks turned red. 

"I was her umbrella boy and servant, for the most part." Oswald suggested and Edward stopped laughing, and tried studying Oswald's face for a sign of what he was trying to say. When he couldn't uncover it, he asked:

"What do you mean? You couldn't have possibly been a stripper. Not with a penis, and all. It's a gentleman's club consisting of heterosexual men and the occasional lesbian."

"I prefer the term escort. And what makes you conclude that I'm gay?"

"The amount of facial tissue you have. Most people can almost always detect a person is gay based off their facial features. It's basic scientific evidence that being gay is not a life style choice, but something as natural as birth itself. That's also the reason that most parents of homosexuals, spare the extremely religious, aren't usually completely surprised when their child comes out. And that you're an escort at a gentleman's club."

Edward said as he circled around Oswald and, from behind Oswald, ran his fingers through his black hair.

"Well, you're right. But I was young when I worked for her and it was the only life I knew for four years. Of course, there was always the times when mother became more sick than usual or when we came to possible debt when I would have to do something like that. It was the least desirable thing I've ever done and it was only a few times. But with that being said, with you, I wouldn't even mind."

Oswald said as Edward continued to sensually run his fingers through Oswald's hair, rubbing his scalp and strangely comforting him. It was all so different considering less than four minutes ago he had pointed his gun at him.

"Oh, but you had to learn that way of life from somewhere, didn't you? Who was it, was it Mommy who suggested you be the one who takes it for the team? It's must've been hard to ask her son for such a lewd line of work."

Oswald jolted away from Edward touch and Edward walked around in front of him so they could see eye to eye.

"My mother knew only that I worked in a night club. My mother is a saint! Don't you dare speak about her that way."

Edward smiled at Oswald's anger.

"Inferring that this is what you're asking of me, I will gladly indulge in sexual activities with you if you so wish, after you tell me who sent you here and why." Edward smiled.

"Edward, I had no weapon on me upon entering your home. So I wasn't here to kill you. Isn't that reason enough to spare my life?"

"No, because you're starting to get something out of me. Or else you wouldn't have came. So now the tables have turned- who are you with?" 

"How long have I been here?" 

A smack echoed through the hollow room. Edward had slapped Oswald across the face and Oswald fell to his side whimpering.

"Answer me, Mr. Cobblepot, or I promise you I will slaughter your family just to get whoever you sent to come for me personally, and they will die too. So tell me."

"Vengeance is all I can tell you! We call ourselves Vengeance."

Edward was shocked upon hearing the name, but he certainly knew the name. Edward pulled Oswald to his feet and walked behind him to uncuff him.

"Wait, so we're okay? Aren't we going to-"

"Have sex? No. That'd be wrong. Your ego is fragile enough as is, and you put yourself in the deadly situations because you're borderline suicidal but in denial about it. I recommend professional help, the old gentleman at Fish's damned club have most likely caused you to obtain PTSD."

Edward let these words flood out from his mouth like an overflowing sink as he anxiously walked Oswald to the elevator.

"Tell your group to stay away from my business affairs, and if that they are trying to make a case against me that there's no evidence to find, and I will murder them."

"Wait, so murder in your mind is perfectly suitable but sex with a person who possibly has a mental disorder is where you draw the line?" Oswald scoffed. In all honesty, though he wouldn't admit it to himself, was disappointed.

"I do what I have to in order to survive. Sex is not an essential." 

Edward said as he fumbled with unlocking the elevator, which soon opened. Edward pushed Oswald inside.

"Get help. There's still hope for one of us, and it's not the one who keeps a hand gun in his underwear."

Oswald couldn't even  process these words before the elevator door shut, and he was taken to the first floor. He was greeted by the group, who had been waiting for hours and were tempted to report his murder.

And somewhere between the drive back home and the chat over coffee, tea for Oswald, that Oswald realized he would never be the same.

> And when everyone had left, he laid in his bed and found himself yearning for Edwards fingers through his hair.


	2. What an alarming concept.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald makes friends with the man who spared him,after Jerome distinctly warned him not to.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this update took so long!

For weeks, Oswald went to his deadening job for Don Maroni. For weeks, Oswald worked his ass off trying to plan everything precisely in order to keep his job. For weeks, Oswald was continuously being belittled and taunted by his coworkers and Don Maroni's right hand man, who by the way, didn't even have an IQ that made it into the triple digits.

But during all this humiliation, Oswald kept having the over flooding thoughts of Edward. Of what went on in that hollow room on that cloudy day. That he had let his secrets slip out of his mouth for the man whom he presumed was going to slaughter him. But for that very reason, he was spared. He was spared by one of the most intelligent, manipulative, and all round vicious criminals in Gotham City.

What an alarming concept.

Oswald could see himself that way, which might be even more of a shivery idea. Oswald often pictured him taking the dark path, being the black king in the game of chess, protecting his mother at the cost of his own life. He imagined himself transistioning into insanity, and he knew the first difference between him and Edward was the bridge. 

The bridge is a metaphorical one,of course. In Oswald's mind, everyone once stood on the bridge of sanity. The most sane people sit on the inside, and the less sane you are, the closer you are to the edge, until you eventually fall off or die. Below the bridge is the dark abyss of insanity, where few fall, though not unlikely. Oswald pictures himself standing on the edge, occasionally peaking over to look down. Oswald knows that the more people who come into his life, the further out it will push him. More importantly, the more people Oswald meets, the more he seems to understand serial killers.

The second difference between Edward and Oswald is something morbidly traumatic.

Had Oswald experienced trauma in his life? Of course. Oswald was bullied through his years of school,  had to do things he wasn't proud of to make a living, treated like an animal his whole life. 

But he knew if Edward understood his pain, someone as twisted and back handed as himself, it was probably rooted deep in himself.

"Miss me?"

Oswald looked towards his balcony, which somehow the ginger in a dark purple hoodie and green jeans had ended up on.

"Jerome, what are you doing here? Where's Wayne?"

Jerome shrugged his shoulders.

"Brucie is taking a nap, It is three in the morning in case it slipped your, uh, mind. Bird brains and all."

Jerome grinned and Oswald's face showe signs similar to those about to commit premeditated murder.

"Anyways," Jerome sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting backwards on it, legs on either side of the back of the chair, "is Eddie really your, well, love buddy?" Jerome grinned, in happiness for Oswald or in mockery, Oswald couldn't deduce which.

Oswald smiled and squeezed his eyes closed, like he usually does in frustrating moments, "Edward and I aren't even friends. He did have me kidnapped, you understand that, right?"

Jerome stood up, bothering Oswald that the kid who was eleven years younger than him was looking down at him from how close they were.

"I know all too well that kidnapping someone doesn't necessarily mean you aren't attracted to them." Jerome said, suddenly turning serious.

"Your relations with a barely pubescent boy who has a bad case of Stockholm syndrome for you is none of my business. Now leave!" Oswald snapped, and voice shaking. Oswald didn't understand why mentioning Edward in that way made him angry... Or was it jealousy? Or maybe immoral craving?

Jerome had almost a flash of anxiety wash over him, that made his entire body shake for two seconds. And after those two seconds passed, Jerome had his hand wrapped around Penguin's throat and he was pushing him up against a wall.

"Listen up, limpy," Jerome said, staring into the light blue eyes, "this little, uh, charade of yours isn't going to keep your throat from being slit open like wet paper if you keep being so careless and needy. You can say whatever you want about me, but you leave Bruce out of it. I'm the only one who gets to talk about him like that."

Jerome relented, and released Oswald. Oswald's eyes were glazed over like newly cut glass. He looked...hurt. Emotionally hurt for some reason. 

Jerome almost felt the need to apologize, but he wouldn't do that for the life of him.

"Brighten up, Birdy. There's a funny side to everything."

"Then humor me, what's so funny about my pain, friend?"

"That you think that you're unavailable or something, all because he spared you. Even an enemy might save you from a bullet so they can choke you for themselves instead. Just wait, and you'll be laughing too." Jerome laughed and as quickly as he was on Oswald's balcony, he was gone.

Oswald knew what he had to do next.

Meanwhile, Jerome was sitting in a wooden chair next to Bruce's bed, one hand in the boys raven hair, the other rubbing the bit of nose between his eyes, wondering what the hell was wrong with himself.

Oswald limped into the lobby, slumped over and unsocial like a newly kicked dog. He buzzed for Edwards floor and Edward answered on the first ring. 

"What are you doing here at three thirty in the morning?" Edward questioned, surprised by Oswald even daring to show back up.

"Please," Oswald gasped for air, "can I come in?"

The elevator door opened.

*

Edward greeted the smaller man at the elevator entrance to his home. Oswald looked as if he had been crushed.

"What's wrong?" Edward said, genuinely concerned.

" I just..." Oswald sniffled, "never picked up my jacket."

Edward, knowing better, pulled Oswald into a deep hug and Oswald began to cry into his shoulder, wetting the gray T-shirt. Edward was confused on why Oswald was here, crying on his shoulder at three in the morning. They certainly were not meant to be this close, or intimate considering everything that had gone on between them. Yet they struck this intersection point of their two lives so rapidly and harsh and unrelentingly, that it would seem as if these two very different pople were destined to collide.

Edward was a strong believer in fate.

Oswald pulled away, laughing pitifully as he wiped his wetted cheeks oawthe sleeves of his black jacket. He looks up at Edward with puffy eyes and a broken smile.

"Forgive me, my friend. I didn't know who else to turn to. I think a delirious teenager with flames for hair just gave me a reality check."

Oswald took another step back from the taller man who's heart unwillingly clenched every time the man got farther from him.

"A child?"

"A young adult. He's eighteen."

"Ah."

Silence filled the room and the space between them for a few seconds.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Ah, I shouldn't stay. It's very late."

Edward laughed and shook his head.

"I insist. Unless of course you have somewhere you need to go."

Oswald nodded and chuckled as he followed Edward into his kitchen.

"So, what's your poison?"

"Water is fine.I've been told on more than one occasion that I have an alcohol problem."

"Ah, so we are more similar than I thought."

Edward put a glass of ice water in front of Oswald, and Oswald was fascinated by the medium sized aquarium sitting on the right side of the stove on the black counter tops. 

"You have a fish?"

Edward looked over his shoulder to acknowledge hia fish. He smiled and turned back to Oswald. 

"Yes. His name is Copper. He is a Gold Piranha, more widely known as a black diamond piranha. A small exotic fish, yet very agressive. They live in solitary most their lives." Edward explained as Oswald watched it slowly swim in circles.

"Huh. So, does he eat flesh?"

Edward grinned from ear to ear.

"Yes. But I mostly feed him left over protein."

Oswald shrugged and took a drink of water.

"I would advise you not to get too close to him, considering your unfortunate events that usually occur upon meeting small but dangerous fish." 

Edward giggled and Oswald rolled his eyes.

It was hours later and Oswald and Edward had found themselves laying on Edward's couch, Oswald's head on Edward's lap, talking about whatever came to mind.

"Okay, okay, Hannibal or Will?"

Edward asked, running his hands through Oswald's hair.

"What? The show Hannibal?"

"Yes, do you watch it?"

"I do."

"Then which?"

"Which character I like better? William."

"I like Hannibal better. He seems to be very intelligent and could honestly beat anyone in a game of brains."

"Ah, does that say something about who we are?"

"Perhaps."

Oswald sighed, and sleepily rubbed his head against Edward's thigh.

"Do you have feelings for me, Mr. Cobblepot?"

Edward suddenly asked, and Oswald's eyes opened.

"How would I know?"

Oswald responded, acting annoyed.

Edward smiled, and put one hand on Oswald's left wrist, and caressed Oswald's face with the other. 

"I suppose you wouldn't." 

Oswald sat up and looked at a smug Edward. He ignored it and rolled his eyes.

"Can I sleep on your couch tonight?"

"If you prefer. I'll be up at nine to make breakfast if you want to join me. Or if you want to sneak out of here before then and forget this ever happened."

Edward stood up, and walked over to a hallway closet, where he grabbed a comforter blanket.

"I beat but I do not abuse, I pump with no hands, I can be stolen but not held. What am I?"

Edward asked as Oswald laid down on the couch and Edward covered him with the blanket.

"A heart. So what?" 

Oswald scoffed. Edward chuckled.

"You have a very unique rhythm about you, Mr. Penguin."

Oswald raised an eyebrow at Ed, and Ed ran his fingers again down to Oswald's left wrist, which was above the covers.

"Sleep well, my feathered friend."

Edward leaned down and kissed the smaller man on the forehead. 

Oswald thought his heart would explose. 

"You too, Ed." Oswald barely whispered.

It was as Edward entered his bedroom down the hall, when Oswald realized his new friend had been checking his pulse. His heartbeat.


End file.
